


Truth in Deception

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barbler, Barson, F/M, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex Under False Pretenses, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 10:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20637476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: This is for Michelle's birthday. The request (a million years old at this point) was for an attempt at a Barbler fic, although I knew from the start that it would have to be Barson in the end. I'm not sure I did the idea the justice it deserves but I took a crack at it ;) I also really needed a beta this time around more than ever before but of course I ran out of time, because I'm nothing if not an expert procrastinator.Post-Undiscovered Country.





	Truth in Deception

“This stool taken?”

Barba glanced over at the other man and shrugged a shoulder, gesturing with a hand in invitation. Barba sipped at his scotch while the guy seated himself.

“Thanks,” the man said, flashing his teeth in a smile that Barba caught only in his peripheral vision. “Busy place tonight.”

“Hmm,” Barba answered. There were a few empty tables, and Barba’s body language spoke clearly to his desire to be alone at the bar, so he knew there must be some ulterior motive to the guy’s approach. He wasn’t Barba’s usual type, if Barba could be said to _have_ a type: he was muscular, overly-masculine—the kind of guy who put way too much stock in being a former jock—with a receding hairline, graying stubble across his chin, and a too-big smile. The kind of guy who would feel right at home shooting the shit with Peter Stone about their glory days.

Barba pushed away thoughts of Stone, because they could only lead to thoughts of other people. He wasn’t drunk enough for that. He downed the last of his scotch and motioned to the bartender with his empty glass.

“Buy you a drink?” he asked the newcomer without looking at him.

“How ‘bout I buy _yours_,” the guy said.

Barba smiled as the bartender took his glass, but there wasn’t much humor in the turn of his lips. _Why not?_ he thought. “Double, please,” he told the man behind the bar quietly.

The guy on the stool beside him chuckled and ordered a bottle of Michelob Ultra. Barba took a pull from his fresh drink while his companion received his beer.

“Name’s Doug,” the guy said, turning toward Barba and holding out a hand.

Barba turned his head, gave the man a quick once-over. _Liar_, he thought. But there was no wedding ring or tan line, and while the man’s grin was a tad predatory, it wasn’t the kind of predatory that made Barba feel unsafe. Barba shook his hand, letting Doug—or whatever his real name was—squeeze his fingers for a moment.

“Rafael.”

Doug’s hair—what was left of it—was heavily salted with gray, and the lines on his face told a complicated story; a story with a lot of laughter, a lot of anger, and a lot of time in the sun. Barba wondered what his own face might be saying. He knew he was paler than usual, and his jaw was rough with graying stubble, too. His eyes were likely bright from the scotch.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled with his whole face, let alone laughed.

_Liar_, he thought again, but this time the word was directed inward. Maybe he only _wished_ he could forget.

Doug was dressed in jeans that were well-worn but too tight, and a t-shirt that showed off his biceps. He wasn’t overly tall—he probably had three inches on Barba. Barba could dominate him easily enough if the guy was into that sort of thing. Barba didn’t think he was, and that was for the best. Barba had been doing a lot of penance on his knees lately, anyway.

“Rafael,” Doug repeated in a low voice. “You meeting someone here?” He raised his beer to his lips, keeping his eyes on Barba as he drank.

Barba touched the tip of his tongue to his lip and offered a slow shake of his head. _Why not?_ he thought again. “You have a place nearby?” he asked.

Doug raised his eyebrows and tipped his bottle down from his mouth. He swallowed, suppressed a burp, and said, “A place?”

It was a sigh that Barba suppressed. “Oh, you know. A house. An apartment. Hotel room.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Car.” The last was more or less a bluff; he wasn’t about to risk getting caught blowing a guy in a car. He might be self-destructive, but a charge like that would draw the attention of the very last people in the world who should have to deal with it.

“Depends on what you mean by _nearby_,” the other man said. A deflection. He was uncomfortable. Good. He was of no use to Barba if he was easily spooked, so it was best to push and find out early.

“So that’s a no, then,” Barba said. He took another drink, savoring the burn on his tongue for long moments while he regarded Doug. “That’s alright. You can come to my place.”

The guy blinked. His smile was wide but stopped short of his eyes. “That must be some good scotch,” he said, an attempt at a joke.

Barba flashed his teeth. “We’re both a little old to beat around the bush, aren’t we? And by the time I hit the bottom of this glass, I’ll be more than a little drunk. So, here’s the deal. I won’t let you fuck me but I’ll suck you off—as rough or as gentle as you want it, and more than once if I don’t pass out. You can stay the night to sleep off the beer but you need to leave early.”

Barba drank, waiting for the other man’s response.

“Just like that, huh?” Doug asked. “You don’t even know me.”

Barba shrugged a shoulder. “What’d you come over here for?”

“I just didn’t realize this was…that kind of place.”

“What kind is that?” Barba asked, and he knew that Doug didn’t miss the dangerous glint in his glare.

“No, you know,” Doug said. He cleared his throat. “I thought maybe, I don’t know. We could talk for a bit, maybe get something to eat and—”

“It’s after eleven.”

“I meant, you know, tomorrow night maybe—”

“I’m not interested, sorry,” Barba said, turning back toward the bar.

“Not interested in getting to know each other?” Doug tipped his head closer and lowered his voice, glancing around. “You just offered to suck my dick. After one drink.”

Barba shrugged his shoulder again. “Take it or leave it,” he said, staring down at his glass as he gave the liquor a little swirl. “Doesn’t matter to me.” That wasn’t entirely true. He definitely hadn’t been looking to take anyone home, or suck anyone off, but now that “Doug” had put the idea in his head, Barba found that he _did_ want the distraction. If Doug shot him down, he could find someone else, someone willing to play along with his self-punishment.

Barba tipped his glass to his lips and swallowed most of his drink; no use prolonging the inevitable. The truth was, he wasn’t nearly drunk enough—but he was also most likely _too drunk_ already.

Doug finished his beer quickly and motioned for another. Barba didn’t think that had been his first, but Doug was a dozen steps closer to sober than Barba was.

“Didn’t mean to offend you,” Doug said after a few moments of silence. “You surprised me is all.”

“I’m not offended and I’m too old to play hard to get.”

“You keep saying that, but how old are you? Forty? Hardly over the hill.”

“Forty, fifty, what’s the difference,” Barba said. He had enough presence of mind to realize he _sounded _drunk.

“Rafael,” Doug said, putting a hand on Barba’s arm on the bar. “The truth is, I came over because I thought you were cute and maybe we could have a few drinks, get to know—”

“It’s not that kind of place,” Barba said, casting the other man a sideways look and a small smile.

Doug paused, chuckled, and said, “Fair enough.” He took a drink from his bottle. “I guess that’s my cue to fuck off then, huh?” He didn’t move to leave, though, and Barba could feel the speculation in his heavy gaze.

“I’ll give you three questions,” Barba said, keeping his own eyes on his drink. He supposed he sounded drunk _and_ desperate, and he tried to tell himself he didn’t care. He tried to ignore the burning pain in his chest. The ache of inevitable loneliness and self-loathing.

“Hmm,” Doug answered, regarding him. “What do you do?”

Barba smiled at his glass. “_Iiiiii_…am a _lawyer_,” he said. Then, for the sake of politeness: “And you?”

“Personal trainer. Lawyer, huh? What’s that—” Barba held up the first two fingers of his left hand, waggling the second a bit, and the other man broke off abruptly. “Right, okay.” He paused to consider his second question, sipping at his beer. “You married and-or have kids?”

Barba looked over at him with a more genuine smile. Doug grinned and shrugged. “No,” Barba answered. He raised his eyebrows in silent question.

“Me? Divorced.” No answer about kids, Barba noted through his buzz. Barba swallowed the last of his scotch. Doug pointed a finger at it. “Need a refill?” he asked.

Barba set the glass down with a clunk and turned on his stool. He slid to his feet and hesitated as the room continued to spin. “Shit,” he muttered. He realized belatedly that Doug had a hand on his arm to steady him.

“You okay?”

“You already had three questions,” Barba said, closing his eyes for a moment to get his bearings.

“I did?” Doug thought back over what he’d said. “Well, hell. I’ve got it,” he said when he realized that Barba was trying to fish out his wallet.

“You don’t know how much I drank,” Barba said with a twist of his lips, cocking an eyebrow.

“I’ve got an idea,” Doug answered, nodding at the bartender as he pulled several bills from his wallet. Barba blinked but couldn’t quite focus his eyes, so he gave up trying. He stepped away from the stool and straightened his shirt.

“Moment of truth, Doug,” he said. “You coming or not.” He paused and considered the double entendre. He snorted and started away from the bar, peering at the distant exit.

“Hey, how about I at least make sure you get home okay,” the other man said, following after him.

_What the hell are you doing, Rafa?_

The unexpected voice in his head brought the sting of tears to his eyes, and for several seconds Barba couldn’t draw a breath. He kept walking; he knew he was walking unevenly because he felt a steadying hand settle against his back.

_Are you trying to get yourself robbed? Raped? Murdered?_

_Sorry, Liv_, Barba thought. _You can’t help me_. Doug pushed the door open for him, and Barba stepped out into the cool night air.

* * *

“_Fuck_,” Stabler muttered. Having a _highly _inebriated Rafael Barba kneeling, face inches from Stabler’s crotch as he made a valiant attempt to find his way to Stabler’s dick, had not been in the former detective’s plans for the evening. He made a swipe for Barba’s hand but the lawyer, even drunk, was quick; he evaded Stabler’s hand and got his fingers on the belt buckle before Stabler said, “Stop it.”

He didn’t mean to sound so rough, or to smack Barba’s hand away with quite so much force, and he silently cursed himself as the lawyer blinked up at him. Stabler was a little worried that Barba was too drunk to take no for an answer, but there were other concerns to consider. Tonight had not gone as planned and Stabler didn’t know if there was any way to salvage his investigation.

Barba suddenly shoved at Stabler’s thighs hard enough that Stabler had to take a stumbling step backward. “Get the fuck out, then,” Barba said. He sounded angry, but the primary emotion twisting his features was pain. Stabler reminded himself of all the reasons Rafael Barba didn’t deserve his sympathy.

“Hey, Rafael, let’s just slow down for a minute,” Stabler said, flashing a smile as Barba rolled over onto his hands and knees in an attempt to push to his feet. “Here, let me help—”

“Don’t touch me,” Barba said, swatting at Stabler’s hand and nearly falling onto his face in the process. After a moment he flopped onto his ass and sat leaning against the side of the bed, peering blearily up at Stabler. “Just go away,” he said. His voice was brittle, his green eyes full of hurt and confusion and liquor.

Stabler didn’t know how much of the evening Barba was going to remember. Leaving him like this would be a gamble. If he remembered the rejection in the morning, he most likely wouldn’t give Stabler the time of day again. Stabler wasn’t sure if he should risk it; there might still be some way to defuse the situation.

“Okay, if that’s what you want,” he said, holding up his hand, keeping his smile as friendly as possible. “Can I just use your bathroom real quick?”

Barba leaned his head back against the bed and closed his eyes, dropping his hands into his lap. He wasn’t aroused, Stabler noticed; that made two of them. “Do whatever you want,” Barba mumbled.

Stabler found the bathroom easily enough and stepped inside, flipping the light switch and closing the door behind himself. He leaned his hands on the edge of the counter and looked at himself in the mirror.

“Fuck,” he repeated under his breath. He should’ve realized how drunk Barba was before buying him that last drink. In the cab, Barba had tried three times to tell the driver his address before finally pulling his wallet out and shoving it at Stabler. Stabler found the address and read it to the driver before tucking the wallet back into Barba’s jacket pocket.

The lawyer hadn’t made any advances during the short ride, thankfully, but as soon as he’d staggered into his apartment—managing to fish out his own keys and thrust them at Stabler so that Stabler didn’t have to reach into the other man’s pocket, a potentiality he had _not _been looking forward to—Barba had turned and leaned toward Stabler, trying to kiss his neck.

Stabler had dodged with a nervous little laugh, already realizing he should’ve left at the door. But there was still a chance, he thought then, maybe he could get some coffee into the lawyer, sober him up just enough to get him talking—

He’d followed Barba into the bedroom and Barba had immediately turned and dropped to his knees, reaching for Stabler’s belt buckle.

Now, Stabler’s lip curled at the memory. He didn’t begrudge a little casual sex between two consenting, unmarried adults, but this was different. Barba didn’t know him from a guy in an alley, didn’t even know his real name, and he brought him _home_ and tried to suck his dick? What the fuck was wrong with him? All those years working with SVU hadn’t taught him _anything_?

And Benson, she’d cared enough about this asshole to stand by him even through his _murder trial_, and why? Stabler knew she’d always had a bleeding heart, was always eager to believe the best of people, but how had she not seen through Rafael Barba and his fancy-clothes-and-Harvard-education facade from the beginning? Stabler would’ve thought he’d taught her better.

He scrubbed water onto his stubbled face and drew a bracing breath. “Listen, Raf—” he started as he stepped out of the bathroom, but he broke off abruptly. Barba was still on the floor, but he’d curled up on his side and was out cold. Stabler took a step toward him, feeling a slither of unease, ready to check for a pulse when he registered the other man’s soft snores.

He walked closer anyway and cautiously sank into a crouch beside Barba.

“Hey. Rafael?” There was no response. Stabler nudged his arm with a knuckle and sighed. “Come on, pal, get up on the bed.” Barba mumbled something in his sleep and tried to pull away when Stabler lifted his arm. “I’m not trying to fuck you, I’m trying to—Ah, forget it,” Stabler said, letting the man’s arm fall back to the floor.

Rising to his feet with a pop of his knees, Stabler looked around the room and then back at Barba. The lawyer was snoring, his hand fisted near his mouth. Stabler was surprised he wasn’t sucking his thumb. With a sound of derision, Stabler turned away and went to the dresser. He opened the top drawer as quietly as he could and rummaged through the other man’s socks and underwear.

Finding nothing hidden beneath or behind, he did the same with the other drawers. Still nothing. Stabler went back into the bathroom and checked the drawers and medicine cabinet. There was only one prescription bottle amidst the regular assortment of over-the-counter drugs, bandages, and ointments, and Stabler picked it up to read the label. He recognized the prescribing doctor immediately: George Huang. Stabler had a good idea what the medication was for, but he drew out his phone and did a quick search.

Anti-depressant. Not a surprise. Stabler opened the bottle and shook the pills into his hand to count them. The prescription was three months old, but the number of pills in the bottle matched the number prescribed. Apparently the former ADA had decided that getting shit-faced and fucked by random strangers was a better solution for depression.

Stabler returned the medicine to the cabinet and left the bathroom. Barba was still asleep on the floor. Stabler went into the kitchen and checked the refrigerator. Not as much alcohol as he expected, but also very little food. The cupboards were mostly bare, too. A quick search of the kitchen drawers turned up nothing out of the ordinary.

Stabler found Barba’s briefcase on the table and hesitated a moment before opening it. Then, telling himself he had no intention of violating anyone else’s privacy if there were legal documents inside, he flipped the case open and thumbed through the files and papers. He checked the pockets. Nothing seemed to be hidden, and all of the paperwork was professional. There was nothing personal of Barba’s.

With a sigh of frustration, Stabler closed the case and adjusted it so it was angled the way he’d found it. He opened the laptop on the table and the welcome screen loaded almost immediately. He wasn’t surprised to see the white bar waiting for a password. He clicked the computer closed. There was no point in trying to guess at the password, not when he didn’t know what kind of security precautions the former ADA might have in place for incorrect attempts.

Stabler glanced at his watch and headed back into the bedroom. Barba had shifted so his arm was curled over his face, and he’d drawn his knees up even tighter to his stomach.

For a moment Stabler was struck by how much the man resembled a child. In Barba’s posture, Stabler could see his own sons when they were little, particularly if they’d cried themselves to sleep, and he was hit by an unwelcome stab of pity.

Stabler dropped back into a crouch and carefully fished Barba’s wallet from his pocket. Barba didn’t stir. Stabler looked through the wallet: not much cash, a credit card and a debit card, a driver’s license even though the man didn’t have a car, a few pictures of what appeared to be grandparents and one of his mother. And, tucked behind the photo of Lucia Barba, Stabler found another worn photograph.

Olivia Benson and her son.

Stabler studied her face for a few moments. The photo was several years old, he supposed, since the kid was barely more than a toddler. She looked older than the last time he’d seen her, of course. She was still beautiful, but what struck him the most was how happy she looked. He was glad that she’d found a way to become a mother like she’d always wanted.

He wasn’t glad to find her picture stashed away in Rafael Barba’s wallet, though.

Stabler started to slip the photograph back into the slot and hesitated, flipping it over on impulse. He recognized the handwriting at the top. Benson had written: _Merry Christmas, Uncle Rafa. Love, Noah (and Liv)_

In spite of himself, Stabler smiled—but the smile was bittersweet, because while he’d been receiving a Christmas card every year from Benson, none of them had ever contained photographs of her or her son.

In different handwriting—presumably Barba’s—were the words _I’m sorry_ penned in small, neat letters. Stabler couldn’t fathom the reasoning behind writing an apology on a photograph that was never meant to see the light of day, but Stabler didn’t want to waste too much time trying to analyze the workings of Barba’s mind.

There was nothing more that he could accomplish while Barba was passed out cold. Stabler, as much as he hated to admit it, knew he had to call it a night and cut his losses with the hope he’d get a chance to try again. If he could access Barba’s computer, he could search for pictures.

“Hey,” he said again, poking at Barba’s arm. “I’m gonna take off.”

Barba made a sound but didn’t wake.

Stabler sighed. “You just stay here and sleep it off, then,” he said. He didn’t want to feel sympathy, but something made him hesitate. Maybe it was the childlike pose. Maybe it was his own guilt for picking the man up in a bar.

Most likely, it was Benson’s voice in his head.

Whatever the reason, Stabler found himself unable to leave Barba curled on the thin carpet. He tried once more to rouse the other man without success and sighed in irritation. “You’re a pain in the ass,” he muttered under his breath.

_No one told you to go home with him_, Benson accused in response. _What the hell kind of investigation technique is this, exactly?_

Stabler ignored the voice and the flush of guilt. He reached back and tugged Barba’s shoes from his feet, sliding them under the edge of the bed. He scooped Barba up like a child—although he weighed considerably more than a child—and got unsteadily to his feet. He turned and put the man on the bed and pulled the covers up over him.

_What if he’s innocent?_

_He’s not_, Stabler thought, but he couldn’t ignore the uneasy squirming in his stomach. Benson had stood by this man through a murder trial. If she knew what Stabler was doing—

He shook his head, clenching his jaw. Olivia Benson had always had blind spots when it came to people she cared about, and Rafael Barba had exploited her friendship and used it to cover his own crimes. He didn’t deserve sympathy. Stabler picked the wallet up from the floor and set it on the bedside table, giving Barba one last look before striding from the room.

_He’s guilty and I’m going to prove it_, Stabler thought as he let himself out of the apartment a couple of minutes later.

* * *

Barba opened his eyes and suppressed a groan, lifting a heavy hand to his face. He glanced sideways through slitted eyes; the other side of the bed was empty, with no signs of having been slept in—or otherwise used. Barba closed his eyes again and swallowed. The click of his throat was loud in his thudding head. 

He didn’t know how he’d gotten into his bed. He remembered bringing the muscle guy—_Doug_, but not really—home. He remembered trying to suck the guy’s dick and getting rebuffed. And he vaguely remembered curling up on the floor.

He forced his eyelids apart and looking down, plucking up the edge of the blankets so he could see himself. He was fully-clothed except shoes. He shifted his legs carefully, taking stock of the aches and pains in his body, and concluded nothing had happened. 

The guy must’ve put him to bed and left. 

Barba hadn’t thought he could feel more pathetic, but the universe seemed determined to constantly prove him wrong. _You got lucky_, a familiar voice said in his head. _Do you have any idea what could’ve—_

“Yeah,” he muttered aloud, scrubbing his hand over his tingling face. He didn’t want to get up, even though he had to piss so badly that he couldn’t be certain he’d even make it to the bathroom. He wanted to curl under the blankets and wallow in his misery, but he’d done more than enough wallowing the night before. 

His alarm wasn’t set to sound for another half hour, but he threw the covers back and forced his body out of bed. He padded gingerly to the bathroom, sighing in temporary relief as he emptied his bladder. He avoided catching the eye of his reflection and instead made his way into the living room to make sure he was alone in the apartment. There was no sign of his date.

Barba snorted at the thought. _Date_. 

He’d started to turn back to the bedroom when he caught sight of a piece of paper on the table and realized _no sign_ was inaccurate. Doug had left a note. Barba walked toward it with a nervous flutter in his stomach and picked up the paper. It had been torn from the pad he kept in the kitchen. 

_Rafael -_

_I’m sorry we didn’t have more time to get to know each other. Hopefully we can try again. Call me when you want to meet up. _

_I tried to program your coffeemaker for you but it’s too complicated. Remember to eat and hydrate._

_Doug_

Barba stared blearily at the phone number below the name for what felt like ages. When was the last time someone had given him a _phone number_? 

He reread the words, making a mental note of the man’s confidence. _When_ you want to meet up, not _if_. Confidence was something Barba usually found attractive; he had little use for someone who needed constant reassurance or flattery. Someone like that, he might develop an emotional connection. He might run the risk of doing something stupid, like _feeling_ something. No, confidence and a little coolness were good, safe.

Under other circumstances, he might be willing to give Doug another try. At the very least, Barba suspected the other man might be able to manage a little aggression in the bedroom, and he’d found very few men who were able to walk the line between consensual aggression and actual violence lately. But, unfortunately, Doug’s moment had passed along with the majority of Barba’s self-destructive impulses. With the sunrise came a thudding head, a churning stomach, and a slew of responsibilities.

Barba wadded up the note with only the faintest twinge of regret and walked into the kitchen to toss it in the garbage. He’d already shuffled back to the bathroom before he realized that he’d forgotten to make coffee, and he cursed under his breath. He swallowed several aspirin and gulped down a cupful of water at the bathroom sink, still refusing to look at himself. He knew he should eat, and he desperately wanted coffee, but he slowly stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the shower, instead. 

He stood under the hot spray with his forehead pressed against the wall and his eyes closed, letting the water burn his skin and wash away whatever sins weren’t permanently attached. He tried to think of nothing and failed miserably, instead managing to catalogue all of his most painful memories. 

_You need to pull yourself together_.

He knew the voice was right; she was always right. 

He’d been doing alright, relatively speaking. He’d had a bit of a relapse the night before, spiraled a little in response to some news, but he would push through. He had to focus on work and getting his career back on course.

He lost track of time, eventually realizing that his headache had subsided into a bearable distraction, and when he got out of the shower he barely had time to get dressed, grab his briefcase, and hurry out the door. He didn’t shave. His hair was still damp, combed but ungelled when he left; he smiled at the thought that he might as well be in disguise. 

Barba reached the bottom of his brownstone’s steps and drew up short on the sidewalk, blinking in surprise at the sight of Stabler. “Doug,” he said.

Stabler offered a sheepish smile and held up a travel mug. “Thought you could use something for the hangover.”

“Coffee?” Barba asked, hopeful in spite of himself. He was concerned by the other man’s appearance outside his apartment, but he was running late. He didn’t relish the idea of having to schlep all the way to his office before getting his first jolt of caffeine.

“Smoothie,” Stabler corrected, holding out the mug.

Barba’s nose wrinkled. “Thanks anyway, but I have to get—” He’d only taken a couple of steps, and he stopped again when Stabler held out a hand.

“Wait, I wanted to—apologize about last night.”

“That’s not necessary,” Barba said. “Listen, I’m late—”

“Right, yeah, of course,” Stabler said, shaking his head. “Sorry. Here, at least take this. It’ll make you feel better.”

Barba looked at the extended mug. Against his better judgement, he reached out and took it. It would probably speed things along if he just accepted it, thanked the man, and headed on his way. Besides, it _was_ a nice gesture that was only partially invalidated by the stalkerishness of hovering outside someone’s apartment the morning after an almost-hookup. “Thanks,” he said. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I really have to go.”

“Of course,” Stabler repeated, taking a half step to the side.

Barba hesitated for reasons he couldn’t fathom. After a moment he raised the mug to his nose and sniffed the smoothie. “Smells fruity,” he remarked.

Stabler chuckled at the disdain in Barba’s voice and expression. “I swear it’ll help the hangover.”

Barba grimaced. “I know I look almost as terrible as I feel.”

“You don’t look so bad from where I’m standing,” Stabler answered.

Barba cleared his throat and fidgeted, bumping his briefcase against his thigh. He could project an air of confidence in most settings, but he’d never known what to do with compliments. Luckily, they’d been few and far between lately. “I’m not nearly as easy when I’m sober, Doug,” he said after a few moments, and he would swear he saw a hint of color creep into the other man’s cheeks.

“I didn’t mean…Look, I know you’re in a hurry, but maybe we could meet for drinks later?”

Barba smiled. “The self-destructive impulses come and go, you know.”

“Have you talked to someone about that?”

Barba laughed, surprising himself. “Only the voices in my head,” he said.

“Which one of them do I have to ask about drinks tonight?”

Barba glanced at his watch and tapped his briefcase against his leg again. He knew he should shut the man down, but there was something about him that piqued Barba’s interest. There was a hint of unsureness buried beneath the confident masculinity.

“Same bar, eight o’clock. If I don’t invite you back here again—”

“I promise not to show up the next morning with a smoothie,” Stabler said, holding up a hand and grinning.

“Thanks for this.” Barba tipped the travel mug in the air, nodded once, and strode past the other man. He resisted the urge to look back and sipped cautiously at the smoothie. He supposed if the man had wanted to drug him, he wouldn’t have bothered leaving Barba in his bed the night before.

It was good. Not as sweet as he’d expected. Barba met the waiting car at the corner and dropped into the back seat with a wince, and then he finally allowed himself a glance back toward his apartment. There was no sign of Doug.

* * *

“And there he was, giving this big dramatic soliloquy and just…swinging back and forth over the stage with his feet in the air.” Barba sank back onto his stool with a sheepish grin, dropping his arm. “Sorry,” he said, realizing he’d gotten a little carried away.

“No, I’m sorry I suggested theater wasn’t interesting,” Stabler laughed. “It sounds exciting when _you_ describe it.”

Barba chuckled and turned back toward the bar to sip at his barely-touched drink. Stabler was already on his second beer, but he hadn’t missed how slowly Barba was working his way through his single scotch.

“Did the last cable break?”

“Mm. No,” Barba said over the rim of his glass. “He dangled there until they closed the curtain for intermission and then they went on with the show like nothing had happened.”

“Show must go on, right?”

“Something like that,” Barba agreed. He looked over at Stabler with a speculative gleam in his eyes. “You should really go, though. There are so many great shows in little back alley theaters.”

“Manhattan alleys?” Stabler teased, bumping his knee against Barba’s.

Barba looked down at their legs and smirked. “Figure of speech.”

“You saying I need more culture?”

“We could all use more culture in our lives,” Barba answered. He tipped his head a bit, regarding Stabler. “I didn’t have a chance to go to the theater much as a kid. Maybe I’m making up for lost time, maybe it’s a form of rebellion.”

“Against your parents?”

“Call it…late late…_late_ stage adolescent rebellion,” Barba said, grinning when Stabler laughed.

“Let me guess, your parents wanted you to play sports?”

“Manly things?” Barba suggested, and Stabler had the distinct impression Barba was pushing at his limits of comfort, testing him. Stabler wasn’t going to be frightened off that easily, but he was a million miles outside his comfort zone.

He’d awakened that morning with a semi-erection for the first time in years—maybe decades—flushed hot with uncomfortable desire after a dream about Barba kneeling before him. Stabler had been surprised—because he _hadn’t_ felt any sort of arousal the night before when Barba had _actually_ been fumbling around for his dick—and more than a bit angry at his body’s betrayal.

Nonetheless, he could deal with a little unwanted physical attraction. It wasn’t as though he’d never been attracted to someone he was never going to sleep with. What was more disturbing than an annoying dream was the fact that Barba, now sober, was disarmingly charming. He was attentive and engaging, witty and educated, self-deprecating and cute.

God help him, Stabler actually sort of _liked_ the guy, or at least the version of himself he was putting forward. Several times already, Stabler had made a concentrated effort to remind himself of why he was talking to the lawyer at all. If the allegations were true, Barba wouldn’t be the first pedophile who was charming and smart.

“I was in Little League,” Barba continued after only a momentary pause. “My athletic endeavors ended pretty early.”

“Baseball wasn’t your thing?”

“I was surprisingly passable,” Barba laughed. “I was quick and good at keeping my eye on the ball,” he added, drawing out the last few words and watching Stabler’s reaction.

There was no point trying to pretend he wasn’t uncomfortable; Barba was far too observant, and Stabler had enough investigative—and interrogative—experience to know that there should always be just enough truth to make a deception believable.

“I guess it’s pretty obvious I don’t really do this sort of thing,” he said.

“What sort of thing is that?” Barba asked. He sipped his drink, watching Stabler over the glass.

“I was married for pretty much my whole life,” Stabler said, and Barba smiled in response. “We separated a few times but I never thought I’d be divorced, you know?”

“Catholic,” Barba guessed.

Stabler laughed and took a swallow of beer. “Takes one to know one,” he returned after a moment.

“We’re taught to hold onto things. My mother would’ve been far better off if she’d let herself consider divorcing my father. Lucky for her his bad habits caught up to him.”

“Sorry.”

Barba shrugged a shoulder. “How long have you been divorced?”

“Almost three years,” Stabler said. “It’s been hard to even consider dating anyone. Signed the papers but it still feels like cheating somehow.” Barba didn’t answer, so Stabler continued: “You mind if I ask you a personal question?”

Barba tipped his glass a bit in silent permission.

“Do you, uh…”

“Come here often?” Barba asked when Stabler faltered for the right words. The lawyer smiled, but the gesture was kind rather than mocking. “Considering the way you’ve been looking around like you’re afraid of seeing someone you know, I’m going to guess that you’ve never told anyone you might want to fuck men, too.”

Stabler blinked in surprise. He cleared his throat and took a quick drink. “You don’t mince words,” he muttered.

“I don’t waste my time,” Barba corrected. “I’m also not looking for a relationship.”

“Neither am I,” Stabler said.

“I can live with being an experiment. But just so we’re clear? You buying me a few drinks doesn’t mean I expect anything else.”

“I notice you’re taking it easy in that department tonight,” Stabler said, nodding toward Barba’s glass. “Giving your liver a break after last night?”

“I have court in the morning.” Barba considered, then grimaced. “Early,” he added.

“You worked early this morning.”

“I went to work, not to court,” Barba said. “How long were you waiting outside for me, by the way?”

“Not long,” Stabler said. “I took a guess you were probably an early riser, even with a killer hangover. If you hadn’t shown I would’ve given up before it got too creepy, probably.”

Barba chuckled. “I’ll give you back your mug.”

“Did you try the smoothie?”

“I did. It was good.”

“Help the hangover?”

“I survived the day, so it must have. Thank you. They teach smoothie-making in personal trainer school?”

Stabler flashed his teeth. “There’s not much school involved in what I do. All you have to do is make people sweat.”

“I’m sure it helps if they enjoy it,” Barba returned. The shine in his eyes told Stabler he was pleased with the attempt at flirting.

“It’s my job to make sure they enjoy it,” Stabler answered without hesitation, and Barba’s smile spread into a grin. Stabler considered. “Actually, the metaphor doesn’t follow. Most of the time they hate me but in the end they get what they need.”

Barba tipped his head back to laugh—a genuine laugh that made it difficult to believe he was the same man who’d been curled up on his bedroom floor less than twenty-four hours earlier. “As long as the job gets done,” he said, and the crack of humor in his voice was endearing.

“Can I be blunt?” Stabler asked, glancing around. No one was paying them any attention, and the stools closest to them were unoccupied, but he couldn’t help feeling exposed. It wasn’t just about the potential of having his cover blown, not anymore.

“Please,” Barba answered.

Stabler hesitated before resting his fingers on the other man’s thigh. “I’ve never had sex with a guy before.” He was surprised and alarmed to feel heat creeping into his cheeks. He was revealing far more of himself than he’d had any intention of revealing, and Barba’s gaze was alert and attentive. Stabler paused. He half expected the other man to say something sarcastic: _no kidding_, or _didn’t we already establish that?_ But Barba was silent and patient, and Stabler found himself plowing forward: “I haven’t even been with many women. Like I said, I was married for most of my life. We’ve been—We were together since we were teenagers. Neither of us had been with anyone else before…”

Stabler picked up his beer bottle and motioned toward the bartender before swallowing the last of the alcohol. He nodded in thanks when it was replaced with a fresh bottle. His other hand was still resting on Barba’s thigh. Barba hadn’t moved or spoken.

“I don’t know that I’d given much thought to what I found attractive except that I knew I wanted her. You know? We were young and beautiful and in love.” He smiled with a touch of bitterness. “We grew up together. We both changed so much. She’s still beautiful but…you know that almost ethereal beauty that some teenagers have, like they don’t belong in this world?”

“Ethereal,” Barba murmured, seeming surprised to hear the word leave the other man’s tongue.

“Right. Young and beautiful and full of a mix of confidence and insecurity.”

“I haven’t been a teenager in a long time,” Barba said.

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate the beauty.”

“Doesn’t it?” Barba asked after a moment, and something had changed in his voice.

“We all have attractions we won’t act on,” Stabler said, realizing almost immediately that he’d made a mistake.

“Attractions to children?” Barba asked. He hadn’t pulled away, not yet, but Stabler could feel the change in the air around them.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Stabler said. “My wife—my ex—she was a teenager when she got pregnant the first time, when we got married. I’m just saying a part of me will always see her like that, I guess.”

Barba took a drink while he considered Stabler’s words, and Stabler waited to see if he’d scared the other man away. Barba didn’t seem nervous or uncomfortable, not in a way that Stabler would expect from a man harboring a secret attraction to teenage girls. Barba seemed repulsed by the idea, and Stabler thought the reaction was genuine.

_Maybe the allegations are wrong_, he thought.

“Do you see your wife, those old attractions, in other teenage girls?” Barba finally asked.

Stabler had to make a decision. Barba’s expression and voice were giving nothing away, now. Stabler could say yes and see if that gave Barba the license to open up about his own attraction to teenagers, but if Barba was innocent then he would most likely put an abrupt end to the evening.

“Of course not,” Stabler heard himself say before he was even aware of making a decision. He saw relief soften Barba’s eyes and posture, and Stabler felt a rush of relief in response. He didn’t want to analyze it too closely. “I guess that was my awkward way of trying to find out what _you_ find attractive.”

Barba finished his drink, finally, and gave his head a little shake when the bartender caught his eye. Propping an elbow on the bar, Barba turned to face Stabler. “David or Venus de Milo,” he said.

“She’s the one without arms?”

Barba laughed quietly. “You get the idea.”

“You’re…bisexual.”

Barba raised his eyebrows, still smiling. “You _can_ say it. I wondered,” he teased. “Yes. I am.”

“I suppose turnabout is fair play,” Stabler muttered, taking another drink.

Barba waved a hand in the air. “Your business,” he said. “The only thing I need to know is if you find _me_ attractive.”

Stabler cleared his throat. “I do,” he said, and he was alarmed to realize just how much truth there was in the answer. He laughed nervously. “Though I’m not sure what the hell to do with the fact,” he confessed.

“Tell you what,” Barba said, glancing down at Stabler’s hand on his leg. “Why don’t we go somewhere you’ll be more comfortable making that decision—one way or the other.”

“You mean back to your place?”

“Sure.”

Stabler knew he should be thinking about ways he might gain access to Barba’s computer, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything but the heavy ball of desire that had settled into his stomach. He’d had too much to drink, but he couldn’t blame the beer for the way he was feeling under Barba’s steady green gaze. “Okay.”

Barba smiled and leaned closer. In a low voice he said, “Don’t look so nervous. I never bite without permission.”

“What if _I_ want to bite?” Stabler asked accidentally.

Barba patted Stabler’s leg. “Anywhere hidden by a suit,” he offered as he slid from his stool.

Stabler quickly finished his beer and dropped cash on the bar, nodding toward the bartender. Barba had already started toward the exit, but Stabler caught up to him in a few long strides, pushing the door open before Barba could reach for it. The lawyer sent him an amused look before slipping out into the night.

* * *

_What the hell are you doing?_

Stabler tried to focus. Things had gotten way out of hand. “Rafael. I need to tell you something.” He had no idea what he meant to say. The truth? If he blurted it all out now, two things would be over: the investigation, and whatever was happening between them. Stabler had no idea which he was more interested in protecting in that moment, and he despised himself for the indecision.

_He can’t be guilty_, he thought. He had enough presence of mind to realize he was making excuses, but it wasn’t only his judgement to consider. Benson had stood by this man through a murder trial. Could her instincts really be that far off, even regarding a friend? She might have an infuriating tendency to see the best in everyone, but she was also trained—by her profession and by the world—to look for the worst.

“I know Doug isn’t your real name.”

Stabler swallowed, his throat bobbing against Barba’s fingertips. His heart was slamming in his chest. His whole body was flushed hot, straining toward Barba’s lightest touch, and Stabler was helpless to stop the reaction. “It’s complicated,” he said, closing his eyes. 

“Are you really divorced? In a relationship?” Barba asked softly. His breath fanned Stabler’s bare shoulder. Barba was still fully clothed, but he’d stripped Stabler’s shirt off, leaving the former detective in a white, ribbed tank top.

“Yes. And no.”

Barba’s lips grazed Stabler’s skin, sliding lightly over the scar puckered across his shoulder. Stabler barely suppressed a shiver. “Then there’s no reason for shame here,” Barba breathed as his palm skated over the bulge straining at Stabler’s fly. 

Stabler shifted, his hips rolling forward; he’d pushed himself against the other man’s hand before he could think to stop himself. “It’s not that simple,” he gasped, clenching his hands into fists at his sides.

“Please,” Barba murmured, his breath warming the hollow of Stabler’s shoulder, “you don’t think I know from Catholic guilt? I promise you, you’re safe here. It’s just you and me.”

“And God,” Stabler answered without thinking. He opened his eyes, expecting Barba to pull away.

Instead, the lawyer offered a small chuff of amusement and said, “I have to believe God is forgiving.”

“I’m not so—”

Barba lifted his head and his green eyes shone beneath a knitted brow. “No,” he said, speaking softly yet fiercely, “not forgiving, not as if there’s anything wrong with…_this_.” He searched Stabler’s face for a few seconds and his forehead smoothed. “Everyone wants us to be what they expect us to be, don’t they?” he asked, the words barely audible in the inches between the two men. A small smile tipped the corner of his mouth. “You want me, and that’s enough for me. You can be anyone you want to be. Doug.”

“I do want you,” Stabler heard himself admit again. It would be stupid and pointless to deny it when Barba could clearly see—and feel—the proof of his desire, but the admission felt more significant than Stabler could’ve imagined. He hesitated with his breath caught in his throat, waiting—waiting for something, some reaction, for Barba to roll his eyes or laugh or smile smugly.

Barba’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes and lit up his face, and Stabler still couldn’t breathe. In that moment, Barba was beautiful, so beautiful that it hurt a place inside of Stabler’s chest, a place that no one had been able to touch for years. 

Maybe decades. 

Maybe ever. 

Barba flattened his palms against Stabler’s chest and leaned up, tipping his chin, his eyes locked on the other man’s. “You tell me to stop and I’ll stop,” he said, and his breath danced over Stabler’s lips. 

The word was in Stabler’s throat—he knew he should say it; he _wanted_ to say it, didn’t he?—but it couldn’t find his tongue. _Stop. I want you to stop_, he thought with a touch of desperation, but it might be the biggest lie he’d ever told himself. He stared into green eyes that seemed to look right through him, eyes that recognized something inside of him that Stabler had spent a lifetime denying, and the biggest truth he’d ever told fell from his lips: “I don’t want you to stop.”

Barba’s mouth brushed over Stabler’s lightly at first, testing, teasing. His palms were warm and solid against Stabler’s chest, and Stabler was leaned into the touch. His eyes slipped closed when Barba’s lips made another pass over his, but even with his eyes closed he could see those green eyes staring at him. He was surrounded by Barba’s scent; not just his cologne, but _him_. 

_It’s just you and me,_ Stabler thought, Barba’s words whispering through his mind. 

The idea was comforting, and for the first time in his life, Stabler wanted to give in, give up control, let go. He’d felt something of that with his wife, but his relationship with Kathy had never demanded the kind of submission he was now feeling compelled to give.

Barba wasn’t asking him to submit, or to compromise. He wasn’t asking for anything but honesty--honesty in action if not in words. Barba wanted to feel wanted, and what did Stabler want? What had he always wanted? To be good enough? A good enough son, a good enough husband, a good enough father. A good enough cop, a good enough partner, a good enough friend. A good enough Catholic, a good enough _man_. 

Barba knew almost nothing about him. He didn’t even know his real name. So how was it that he seemed to know Stabler in a way no one else ever had? Why was it that his ready and easy acceptance was like a balm to old wounds that had never healed?

_And if the accusations are true?_

Stabler didn’t think they were, not anymore. It was impossible to think Barba capable of such a thing now, when they were standing so closely together, when Barba was offering him something he desperately craved. Stabler _still_ had enough self-awareness to realize he might be in denial, that he might be seeing what he wanted to see, but for the first time in his life, he didn’t care about anything but the _moment_. 

When Barba’s mouth settled against his, Stabler’s lips parted, inviting him in. Barba met the challenge eagerly, kissing him with a thoroughness that made Stabler’s head spin. He felt Barba’s hand slide up to the curve of his neck and Stabler realized that his own hands had settled onto Barba’s hips, pulling him closer so their bodies were flush. 

Unlike the previous night, they were both pushing at the seams of their jeans now, and the proof of Barba’s desire gave Stabler a boost of confidence. Barba was right: there was no one else in the room, no one else involved in this decision. Barba wasn’t going to judge Stabler for his body’s reaction, and Stabler found that he was strangely _flattered_ by Barba’s arousal.

Barba’s fingers found their way to Stabler’s fly and hesitated. “May I?” he murmured against Stabler’s mouth.

Stabler hummed in assent, but as soon as Barba had unzipped the jeans, Stabler reached down and grabbed his wrist. “Wait.”

Barba stopped and let his fingers rest on the open flaps of Stabler’s jeans, waiting. When Stabler didn’t immediately say anything else, Barba asked, “If you’re not sure—”

“It’s not that,” Stabler cut in.

Barba regarded him for a moment. “Did me kissing you freak you out? Too intimate?”

Barba’s concern was sweet, and that made Stabler feel even guiltier about his deception. “Believe it or not, I like intimacy,” he said quietly. On impulse, he bent his head forward and caught Barba’s lips in a kiss. Barba welcomed the other man into his mouth without hesitation, but his hands were still unmoving on Stabler’s open fly. “This is weird for me,” Stabler admitted, drawing back to meet Barba’s eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not…”

“Into it?” Barba teased lightly, cocking an eyebrow.

“Into you,” Stabler said, and he watched Barba’s expression go serious. He knew he needed to confess, but Barba pressed a soft kiss to his lips and pushed him back against the wall, and Stabler found himself unable to voice the words that would make the other man recoil.

“If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, all you have to do is say so,” Barba murmured, trailing his fingers over Stabler’s stomach and slipping them beneath the tank top. He smiled at the way Stabler’s muscles trembled at his light touch. “Communication is key.”

“It’s never been my strong suit.”

“There’s more to communication than talking.”

“My name’s Elliot.” Stabler held his breath, waiting for Barba’s reaction. It wasn’t nearly enough of a confession, but it was something, a piece of himself that he could offer.

“Elliot,” Barba said as though he were tasting the word on his tongue. With his hands on Stabler’s stomach, Barba leaned up and kissed him again before trailing his lips over the man’s stubbled jaw to nuzzle at his throat. Stabler tipped his head back against the wall, his fingers digging into Barba’s sides to steady himself. “Elliot,” Barba repeated quietly beneath Stabler’s ear, “will it make you uncomfortable if I suck your dick?”

Stabler gave a startled bark of laughter. “Not if you’re any good at it,” he said. He shivered when Barba chuckled against his neck.

“You can pull my hair,” Barba murmured. His lips were making it difficult for Stabler to think, and it took him a few seconds to understand what Barba was saying. “You can even pull my head down if you want but I’ll tap your leg if I need you to let go.” Barba reached down a hand and bumped his fingers against Stabler’s thigh in demonstration. “I don’t panic easily but if I do, I might bite.”

Stabler laughed breathlessly. His cock was throbbing in his pants. “That’s fair,” he agreed, and he felt Barba’s grin against his neck. A moment later, he felt the lawyer’s teeth graze lightly at his skin, not hard enough to leave a mark.

“Tell me when you’re close because I don’t want you to come in my mouth,” Barba said.

“Okay.” Stabler’s back arched involuntarily away from the wall when Barba’s fingers slipped into the open front of his jeans. “Fuck.”

“Is this alright?” Barba asked as he kissed his way down the front of Stabler’s ribbed shirt.

“God—yes,” Stabler gasped, his hands moving to Barba’s shoulders as the lawyer slowly sank to his knees. “Are you—are you alright? You need a—a pillow or something?” He looked down and felt a warm flutter in his stomach at the smile Barba gave him. 

“Not unless you think this is going to take a long time,” Barba said, and that little hiccup of amusement was in his voice again.

Endurance had always been a point of pride for Stabler, but he didn’t think there was much chance he would last very long once Barba’s lips had closed around him; just the thought had him already teetering at the edge of his self-control. “I don’t think that’ll be—” He broke off, dropping his head back against the wall, when Barba tugged his jeans and briefs down and his erection sprang free.

“Okay?” Barba asked.

“Yes,” Stabler groaned, closing his eyes. He felt Barba’s breath against his hot skin, and then the soft touch of his lips. Barba had one hand against Stabler’s thigh, and with the other he circled his fingers around Stabler’s erection. Stabler couldn’t breathe, and his own fingers tangled into Barba’s hair as the lawyer ducked his head forward and swallowed half of his length. “Fuck,” Stabler repeated breathlessly.

His hand tightened in Barba’s hair when Barba pushed forward, taking him into his throat, but he was careful not to pull; in spite of Barba’s permission, Stabler was worried he would accidentally hurt the other man. It soon became more difficult to control himself, though, as Barba worked him quickly and easily toward a climax that Stabler was a little worried would knock his legs out from under him. His muscles were already trembling, and he was grateful for the support of the wall behind him.

The only sounds in the room were their breaths, Barba’s slurping and occasional little gags, and the roar of blood in Stabler’s ears. He could feel the pressure building, and his toes curled inside his shoes. He pulled Barba’s head forward as his hips bucked away from the wall; it was involuntary, an accident, and Barba gagged on the unexpected thrust into his throat. His fingers curled against Stabler’s thigh but he didn’t tap out.

Stabler released him quickly, gasping out a desperate apology before saying, “Stop, I’m—Jesus.” Barba had already released him, and Stabler let out a shaky breath as the cool air caressed his wet, throbbing erection. “I’m close,” he said unnecessarily. He looked down and tried to blink Barba’s face into focus.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Barba said as his hand circled around Stabler’s glistening cock, and Stabler almost came then.

He realized belatedly that Barba had his own erection out of his pants and in his left hand, though, and Stabler felt a sudden rush of guilt. “Wait,” he said, and Barba looked up in surprise. His green eyes were shimmering with unshed tears—_I did that_, Stabler thought with another burst of guilt—but were alert and locked onto Stabler’s.

Stabler tugged gently at the other man’s hair and gestured with a jerk of his chin. Barba rose silently to his feet in response to the unspoken request. His hand was still wrapped around Stabler’s erection, but loosely. Barba’s expression was questioning, concerned.

“Here, let me,” Stabler said, reaching tentatively for the other man’s cock. “Can I?”

“If you want,” Barba answered quietly.

He was hard and hot, heavy against Stabler’s palm. He was also dry except a few drops of precum. “Here,” Stabler repeated, fingering Barba’s wrist to gently push his hand away. Barba didn’t object, but when Stabler pressed their erections together and wrapped his hand around both cocks, Barba dropped his forehead against Stabler’s shoulder and drew an unsteady breath. “Is this okay?” Stabler asked. His own breaths were uneven as he used Barba’s saliva as lubricant and gave both erections a couple of slow strokes.

“Mhmm,” Barba answered. He slipped his hands under Stabler’s shirt, up over his ribcage, and brushed the pads of his thumbs over Stabler’s nipples.

“Are you…” Stabler started, but he couldn’t finish the thought.

“Mhmm,” Barba repeated anyway, and his hips pushed forward as he drove himself into Stabler’s hand, rubbing their cocks together.

That was too much for Stabler, and he growled low in his throat as he came. His hand tightened reflexively, and Barba turned his face, breathing softly but raggedly into the hollow of Stabler’s throat as he spilled himself over Stabler’s hand and wrist, as their semen mingled together in hot strands and dripped to the floor between them.

Barba was leaned against Stabler, pressing him into the wall, using him for support, and Stabler was distantly grateful that his own knees hadn’t given out beneath him. It took him a few moments to catch his breath; his heart was slamming in his chest.

Barba lifted his head and drew back, carefully pulling himself from Stabler’s messy hand, and Stabler blinked the other man’s face into focus. Barba patted Stabler’s chest and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before saying, “Give me a couple of minutes in the bathroom and then you can use it, alright?”

Stabler was barely able to make sense of the words, but he nodded against the wall.

“I’ll be right back,” Barba promised, and Stabler leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He heard Barba make his way into the bathroom, and Stabler envied his ability to walk and talk and think. After a few moments, he looked down at himself and grimaced. It didn’t look like he’d gotten much on his jeans, which seemed like a miracle, but his hand was covered in cum.

It was impossible to tell whose was whose.

_What the hell did you do?_ he thought with a slither of guilt-laced unease. _Jesus Christ_. _What if he’s guilty? You just basically had sex with him and he could be—_

_What if he’s innocent? You just assaulted him._

_This wasn’t assault. He wanted it as much as I did. He practically—_

_Is that what you’d tell one of your kids if someone lied and tricked them into bed?_

“You can use whatever you want in there,” Barba said. His voice startled Stabler, making him jump and straighten away from the wall. Barba continued, pretending not to notice that Stabler was covering himself with his hand, as though any attempt at modesty weren’t ridiculous. “You can shower if you want. Just throw any towels or cloths into the hamper.”

“Okay,” Stabler answered automatically, glancing down Barba’s body. He was still wearing the same clothes; after cleaning himself up, he’d rezipped his jeans but left the button undone, and Stabler realized he was probably going to change into sweats or pajamas. _Tell him. Tell him the truth before you make it any worse._

“Take a breath, Elliot,” Barba said quietly, and Stabler knew he was failing miserably at hiding the turmoil raging within him.

“Sorry, I—I’ll just be a minute,” Stabler said, cursing himself as a coward as he fled toward the bathroom.

* * *

Barba was in sweat pants and an old t-shirt, sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard when Stabler reappeared a few minutes later. “Everything okay?” the lawyer asked, a little too casually.

“Yeah,” Stabler lied.

“You can stay if you want,” Barba offered. “I have an early morning…”

“Stay?”

“No offense, but you look a little panicky. I’m not sure you should be alone.”

“I’m okay,” Stabler said: another lie.

“Alright.” Barba swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got to his feet. He walked toward the other man slowly, noting the wide pupils and flared nostrils and bobbing throat. “But if you’re having an existential crisis or surge of Catholic guilt—”

“It’s not what you think,” Stabler said.

Barba stopped short of touching him, but his closeness was strangely comforting. “If you want to leave, I won’t try to stop you. But if you need to talk you can call me.”

“Call you?”

“Mhmm,”

“Thought you didn’t want a relationship,” Stabler said.

Barba smiled at the small attempt at humor. “Doesn’t mean I’m a complete asshole,” he answered. He reached out slowly, giving Stabler time to pull away, but Stabler stayed where he was and let the other man flatten a hand over his chest. “It’s okay. You can stay if you want or call if you need. Come back tomorrow night if you want. You don’t have to worry about me or any expectations, Elliot. If you disappear, that’s fine. Just take care of yourself.”

“I need some time to think.”

“Of course.” Barba leaned up and kissed him. It was a gesture of kindness and comfort that Stabler didn’t deserve.

Stabler had never thought of himself as a man who shied away from difficult truths. He’d never felt more like a coward, more like an absolute _asshole_, than he did when he left Barba’s apartment a minute later with the truth still lodged in his throat.

* * *

Stabler stepped into the doorway and tapped his knuckles against the open door. “Nice place you got here,” he said.

Huang looked up from behind his desk, and his face split into a smile at the sight of Stabler. “Elliot,” he said, pushing to his feet. 

Stabler crossed the room and extended a hand, which Huang clasped in both of his for a moment. “George. It’s been a long time.”

“It has,” Huang agreed, settling back into his chair. He was still smiling, but he had that watchful look in his eyes that Stabler had so often seen when the doctor was evaluating someone. “It’s good to see you, Elliot.”

“Yeah, you too,” Stabler said, flashing him a smile before wandering over to the framed photographs on the wall. He touched a finger lightly to the bottom of a frame. “Congratulations on your wedding, Doc.” He studied the happy couple for a few seconds. He’d never seen Huang so happy, but that wasn’t a surprise considering the type of work they’d done together.

“Thank you. Is this a professional visit, Elliot?”

“I’m not with the NYPD anymore.”

“I know.”

Stabler smiled. “I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d stop by and visit an old friend.” He looked over the certificates and diplomas and photos to avoid looking at the doctor. He could feel Huang’s steady gaze on the back of his head. “How’ve you been?”

“Good.” Huang paused. “I’ve been good, El. I was sorry to hear about your divorce.”

Stabler rolled his shoulders. “We all knew it was coming eventually, didn’t we?”

“Did we?”

Stabler sighed and forced himself to turn and meet the other man’s gaze. “I think everyone knew but me,” he admitted with a small smile. “I really thought I could keep everything together if I tried hard enough…”

“The dissolution of your marriage doesn’t mean you failed, Elliot,” Huang said. “How are you and Kathy getting along?”

“Good, actually.” Stabler flashed his teeth. “Better.”

Huang regarded him patiently, waiting for Stabler to explain why he’d come to visit. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Stabler ran a hand over the back of his head. “Listen, Doc, you got a few minutes?”

“Sure. Why don’t you close the door?”

Stabler nodded and walked over to push the door shut. He stood there for a moment longer, gathering his thoughts. He looked at Huang and away, then forced his gaze back. “George, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Do I, uh…” He swallowed, hard. His stomach was a mess of butterflies; this was even more difficult than he’d thought it was going to be. Huang waited. Stabler cleared his throat. “Did I ever seem…gay to you?” he asked. “I mean, did you ever…” He trailed off and ran his tongue nervously over his lower lip.

Huang leaned back in his chair. “I know you don’t mean to be offensive,” he said quietly.

Stabler grimaced. “No, I—I’m sorry, I just meant—”

“Elliot. I hope you know that anything you say will stay in this room, between us.”

Stabler released an unsteady breath and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I know.”

“Why don’t you come sit down and tell me what’s on your mind.”

Stabler crossed to the chair on stiff legs and dropped into the seat. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans and once more forced himself to look the doctor in the face. “Somebody came to me and asked me to investigate someone, thought he was guilty of statutory rape, maybe more. He paid for the abortion of a sixteen-year-old.”

“Why didn’t they—or you—go to SVU to investigate?”

“There was good reason to believe SVU had already ignored certain details. That they might be biased.”

“Do you really believe—”

“Look, I don’t know, George. The truth is I don’t know what to believe anymore. I just…At the time it seemed straightforward but now I can see that maybe I was the one who was biased. Either way I agreed to look into it. But there wasn’t a whole lot to go on. This guy, my source, he’d already tried to talk to the young woman—she’s in her twenties, now—but she basically told him to go fuck himself. 

“I thought the best thing would be to talk to the man accused, feel him out first, you know? I was told he was bisexual, so I went into a bar where he was drinking and I…flirted a little…”

Huang carefully cleared his throat, and Stabler saw anger flash in the doctor’s eyes. His voice was tightly controlled when he said, “You went in and targeted him based on his sexuality, you used it against him as a tool to—” He stopped and drew a breath, composing himself. “You flirted with him, made him think you wanted him in a way you didn’t, Elliot, do you have any idea how damaging that could be?”

“But I did,” Stabler muttered.

Huang hesitated. “You did, what?”

“I did want him. Not at first, but…I did.” Stabler forced the admission into the air and sat, his skin tingling and his stomach churning, as he waited for Huang’s reaction. 

Huang processed the words and decided to move past them for the moment. “You still used his sexuality against him, knowing you were never going to sleep with him.”

“I did,” Stabler repeated.

Huang blinked. “Excuse me?”

Stabler’s eyes were burning along with his stomach. His ears were roaring. “I did, I had…not sex, but we did…”

“Not sex.”

“Not according to Bill Clinton,” Stabler said, but Huang didn’t come close to smiling. 

“Would you seduce a woman and sleep with her to get information? Especially if you thought she was guilty of a crime?”

“Of course not,” Stabler said. As soon as the words left his lips, he winced at the sound. 

Huang placed his palms on the edge of the desk. “What’s the difference?” he asked slowly.

“Look, I get it.”

“Do you?”

“I do, I just…I didn’t mean for this to happen…”

“Does he know?” When Stabler shook his head, Huang sighed and closed his eyes for a few moments. “Do you still think he’s guilty?”

“No. But that’s the thing, Doc, I don’t know if I can trust myself.”

“I’m not sure anyone can trust you,” Huang said, spearing Stabler with a dark look. Then, before Stabler could answer—and what could he say, except to agree?—Huang composed himself again and said, “I apologize, that was inappropriate.”

“Not saying you’re wrong, though,” Stabler said. “I know I’m the asshole here, George.”

“Help me understand, Elliot.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have gone after him the way I did. But I certainly never expected to find myself wanting to sleep with him. I’m not gay, George. Look, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it, it’s just not me. Kathy and I had…a healthy sex life, you know? I’ve always been attracted to women.”

“And men?”

Stabler hesitated. “Everyone has thoughts now and then, don’t they?” he finally asked. 

“Thoughts about having sex with men?” Huang returned.

Stabler was silent for several seconds. “I made a choice,” he finally said. 

“Sexuality is not a choice, and I would think you’d learned—”

“No, but actions are,” Stabler cut in. “I made a choice not to act on…certain feelings.”

“That’s your right, Elliot, but what about _his_ choice? Do you know what having sex under false pretenses is called? Do you know what Olivia would call that?”

Stabler grimaced. Huang didn’t know the half of it; if he did, he would’ve long since thrown Stabler out of the building. “I’m not looking for absolution, George, I just need to know how to make this better.”

“You know my advice already.”

“I know I have to tell him. I know. But what if I’m wrong? I was absolutely convinced he was guilty, and then…”

“You shared an intimate moment.”

“And I felt like I was seeing the real him and there was no way he could do what he was accused of, but what if I’m wrong? What if I was only seeing what I wanted to see?”

“Because you suddenly wanted to fuck him?”

Stabler was momentarily stunned by Huang’s bluntness and vulgarity, both so unlike him. “No, I…I mean I did, but it was more than that.”

“More, how?”

“He…” Stabler licked his lip and looked away. He cleared his throat. He knew he couldn’t hide from the truth of the things he’d done, but baring his soul had never been easy for him at the best of times. “He wanted me,” he finally said.

“He doesn’t know you.”

Stabler forced his gaze to Huang’s. “Until I walked in here, he knew something no one else in the world knew about me,” he said, and he saw something shift in Huang’s expression; he saw understanding slide into sympathy, and Stabler knew he didn’t deserve that. He deserved Huang’s anger. “Maybe he didn’t know anything about me but my first name but in the moment, when it was just the two of us there in that room, he knew me, George. I wanted him and he wanted me. It felt like enough. But now I know how badly I screwed everything up. It’s worse than you even know…”

“What do you want from me, Elliot? Why did you come here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do. You didn’t come here so I could tell you it’s okay to be bisexual, you came because you knew I would be angry. You want to be punished.”

“I didn’t know who else to talk to,” Stabler admitted.

“If you want to talk as friends, we can do that. If you want to talk to a therapist, I can recommend someone. The very last thing I want to do is discourage you from talking about your feelings, Elliot, but you know I cannot condone the deception…You need to be honest with him. No matter what happens with the investigation. No matter what he’s done or hasn’t done, his potential behavior doesn’t excuse yours.”

“I know, you’re right.”

“I haven’t told you anything you didn’t know before you walked in here.”

“You know him. Liv knows him.”

Huang was silent for what felt like a long time. “You know she’s being sworn in today? As captain?”

Stabler shook his head. “I hadn’t heard. She deserves it.” And he deserved the stab of pain that came with knowing this was the first he was hearing of the promotion.

“Of course she does,” Huang agreed. “I’m heading over there shortly.” He paused again. “I think this conversation is over for now.”

Stabler nodded. Huang, although he hadn’t said so out loud, was right: it was grossly unfair for Stabler to even consider mentioning Barba’s name. It was unfair to Barba to talk about him behind his back, especially with someone who knew him both personally and professionally, and it was unfair to put Huang in such an uncomfortable position. 

“I’m sorry, George,” Stabler said, pushing to his feet.

“I’m not the one you should apologize to.”

“You’re not the _only_ one, but I am sorry for dropping this on you. And it really was good to see you.”

“El,” Huang said, stopping him as he started to turn toward the door. Stabler looked back at him. “You and I haven’t always seen eye to eye on things, but I’ve always known that you’re a good man.”

“Still?” Stabler asked, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“The guilt you’re feeling is proof of your morality. How you proceed now is up to you.”

Stabler nodded once. “Have fun at the ceremony,” he said as he left the doctor’s office.

* * *

Barba pulled the door open and looked Stabler over, quickly reading his grim expression. “If you have buyer’s remorse, I really don’t need to hear it,” he said. He had a glass of scotch in his hand, but he didn’t seem to be intoxicated. Yet.

“No,” Stabler answered, fighting an uncharacteristic urge to fidget. “It’s not that.”

Barba nodded and turned away, strolling into the apartment and leaving the door open. “Want a drink?”

_Yes_. “No. Thanks. I…we need to talk, Rafael.”

Barba swallowed half of his drink and set the glass on the counter. He turned to face Stabler. “No offense, but I’m not in the mood. It’s been a rough day.”

“Yeah?” Stabler asked, noting the deeper lines in the other man’s face, the tightness around his eyes and mouth. He started toward Barba automatically, pushing the door closed behind himself. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Hmm.” Barba’s gaze raked down Stabler’s body as the former detective walked toward him. “Yeah. You can fuck me.”

Stabler stopped in his tracks. “I—What?”

“I just spent twenty minutes getting ready for _someone_ to fuck me, it’d be a shame if I had to go out and find someone else when you’re right here.”

“I…didn’t come here to…” Stabler swallowed. Barba’s words, and the look in his eyes, had already begun to have an effect on Stabler’s body, and he hated himself for the hot flush of desire. _Tell him_, he thought desperately. _He won’t look at you like that—_

Barba walked toward him and Stabler was helpless to do anything but stare. Barba stopped close and reached up to touch a finger to the other man’s shirt collar. The lawyer suddenly looked far less sure of himself. He looked _vulnerable_, and hurting him was the last thing Stabler wanted to do. 

“I didn’t actually mean that,” Barba murmured. He looked down and let out a soft breath. “I just need to feel something…_else_.” His gaze slid up to Stabler’s. “I won’t say I’m not using you, Elliot. Maybe we’re using each other, all I know is I don’t want a stranger. I want…an _almost_-stranger,” he said with the hint of a smile touching his lips. “I want you, here and now. I can worry about regrets later.”

“I don’t want to be a regret,” Stabler heard himself say, but he knew the sentiment was too little and too late. He’d already consigned himself to the role of always being someone Barba would see as a regret, a mistake.

Almost as though reading his mind, Barba managed a real smile and said, “It’s too late for that. Don’t take it personally, you know?”

“You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Barba shook his head, but said, “An old friend got a well-deserved honor this evening. Seems like a stupid thing to be upset about, right? But sometimes things happen to make you really understand just how fucking badly you screwed up your life, how much you lost…”

“I know the feeling,” Stabler murmured. It was truer than Barba knew. The two men stared at each other, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. Barba’s expression was soft, open. “I have to tell you something. Before this goes any further, you need to know something about me.”

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it, not now. It’s better to ask for forgiveness later.” Barba paused, searching Stabler’s face. “Do you still want me?”

“Yes,” Stabler breathed. _God help me_, he thought. 

Barba ran his fingers down the other man’s chest, his touch light against Stabler’s stomach. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

“Afraid?” Stabler repeated, barely able to make sense of the word. He _was_ afraid. Terrified. He’d known real fear in his life—fear of death, fear of his partner’s death, fear of something happening to one of his kids—but this was a different kind of fear. It was wrapped around a core of excitement, and he _wanted_ to open himself up in spite of the anxiousness in his gut. He wanted to believe that his deception was forgivable, but he knew Barba wouldn’t want to touch him once he knew the truth.

“I know you’re still unsure,” Barba said softly. He slid his hand lower, palming gently at Stabler’s crotch. “I think we could both do with a little less thinking and a lot more _feeling_ right now.”

“I’m not used to being so…not in control,” Stabler confessed.

“You can have as much control as you want,” Barba promised, and Stabler smiled in spite of himself.

* * *

Barba had been prepared for almost anything. Hard and rough against the wall? He wouldn’t have complained. Bent over the bed and fucked until his arms gave out and dropped him face-first into the mattress? Fine. Facedown and pounded into the blanket until he came all over himself? Great.

But he hadn’t expected the intimacy and consideration. He hadn’t expected the other man to choose the missionary position, hadn’t expected him to _want_ to look Barba in the face.

“God, you feel good,” Stabler muttered. He had a shoulder leaned into the back of Barba’s thigh, and Barba’s joints had begun to ache. He wasn’t going to complain about the other man’s stamina; Barba’s body was on fire, every brush against his prostate was sweet torture and almost enough distraction to make him forget everything else.

“I can’t breathe,” Barba said, wincing as he tried to shift beneath the other man.

“Sorry,” Stabler said, immediately moving his shoulder and pushing Barba’s legs further apart.

Barba grunted in a mixture of surprise and pleasure, his eyes rolling closed.

Stabler, buried deep inside him, froze. “Okay?”

“Yes,” Barba said, grabbing at him, urging him to keep moving. “Good, it’s good. Fuck me, Elliot.” When the other man still didn’t move, Barba opened his eyes and struggled to bring his face into focus. “What?”

“I need to tell you something,” Stabler repeated.

Barba squirmed beneath him, making a sound of annoyance. “_Now_?”

“I need to tell you that…no matter what happens later, this is real for me.”

“Yeah,” Barba said. “I can tell by your dick in my ass.” He regretted the words when he saw Stabler’s wince. “I’m sorry.” Barba wrapped an arm around the other man’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss. “I know. I’m sorry. Just let go, Elliot, let yourself feel this. Fuck me, I promise I won’t break. I need to feel you.”

Stabler kissed him, and Barba could feel the other man’s desperation. Stabler started rocking his hips and Barba moaned beneath him, hooking a leg around his hips to pull him deeper. “I’m close,” Stabler breathed. He levered himself up a bit, thrusting harder, watching Barba’s face. “Are you?”

“Mmhm,” Barba said. His cock was painfully swollen and leaking across his stomach. His body was trembling from the prostate stimulation but it wasn’t enough to bring him real release.

“Should I—” Stabler started, reaching for Barba’s erection.

“No,” Barba said, pushing his hand aside. He groaned and tipped his head back into the pillow. “Not yet. You come first.”

“That’s not usually how I work,” Stabler answered breathlessly.

Barba laughed, a strained sound. “When I come, I tighten up,” he said. “If you’re still going it can get…uncomfortable. You come first and then…work me through mine.”

“Okay,” Stabler said. “I can do that.” He planted a knee so he could drive harder and deeper.

“Jesus,” Barba gasped. “Yes, like that.”

A minute later, Stabler’s hips stuttered as he came. When he reached for Barba’s erection again, Barba didn’t stop him, and within moments the lawyer was coming all over himself with an involuntary cry, tightening around Stabler’s cock and forcing the last few drops of semen into the condom.

Barba was too spent to tap out, but he was grateful for Stabler’s quick withdrawal. They were both breathing heavily when Stabler collapsed beside him on the bed. “You okay?”

“Good,” Barba answered. His body was warm and limp and full of a pleasant tingle. He knew the feeling wouldn’t last. He closed his eyes, listening as the man beside him got his breathing under control. With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine it was someone else.

“I’ll be right back,” Stabler said, breaking the illusion.

“Uh-huh,” Barba answered without opening his eyes.

* * *

Barba came out of the bathroom in his underwear and a t-shirt to find Stabler fully dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I need to ask you something.”

Barba glanced at him and walked over to the dresser to pull out a clean pair of flannel pants. “I thought you needed to tell me something,” he answered. 

“Did you sleep with Ashtonja Abreu?”

Barba faltered for a moment. He stepped into the pants and pulled them up over his shorts before turning to face Stabler. “_Ashtonja Abreu_,” he said, correcting the other man’s pronunciation. “No.”

“When she was sixteen, she had an abortion. You paid for it.”

“She asked me for help. Who the fuck are you?”

“Listen, if you had sex with her—”

“She was a child.”

“She was a teenager who had to grow up too fast. She was obviously sexually active—”

“Are you trying to justify me raping a child? I never touched her. Yes, I gave her money and I’d do it again. She did what was best for her. You have ten seconds to tell me who you are.”

Stabler scrubbed his hands over his face. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Did you talk to Ashtonja?”

“Yes. This afternoon.”

“Jesus.”

“I already convinced myself you were innocent but I had to confirm it. I couldn’t trust my own judgement because I’d started to like you.”

“Fuck you. I hope she punched you in the face.”

“She almost maced me.”

“Good. Are you a cop?”

“Not anymore. I’ve been working as a private investigator. Someone came to me—”

“Don’t try that _anonymous source_ bullshit, you owe me names.”

“Okay,” Stabler said. “Okay, you’re right. Peter Stone came to me.”

“_Peter Stone_? He couldn’t get a murder conviction so he—”

“McCoy told him about Ashtonja when Stone was making his case against you for the Householder baby. Stone went to Liv and found out she already knew—”

“Liv?”

“—about your relationship with Ashtonja, she told him there was nothing to investigate there—”

“_Liv_?”

“—and Stone started to worry she was covering for you because you were friends. It wasn’t relevant to your trial but after you were acquitted I guess he couldn’t let it go. I got the impression—not just from the way he talked but from some things I heard from Fin—that Stone and Liv never really saw eye to eye.”

“Fin?”

“She’s always butted heads with ADAs but I can’t imagine she ever forgave him for what he put you through, even if he was just doing his job. And I think Stone had feelings for Liv and might be bitter about more than just losing his verdict against you.”

“Elliot Stabler,” Barba said flatly. He wanted desperately to see a look of confusion cross the other man’s face, prayed he was wrong.

Instead, Stabler rose from the bed and started toward him with his hand extended. “Rafael, listen, I never expected this to go—”

“Elliot _Stabler_.” Barba took an unsteady step backward and bumped into the dresser. “Jesus Christ.” He ran a shaky hand over his face. “I can’t…I don’t…” He shook his head, but that didn’t help.

“I know I never should’ve let anything happen without telling you the truth, but I didn’t sleep with you to get information. If I’d still thought you were guilty—”

“You _just asked me_ thirty _seconds ago_ if I—” He shook his head again. “Anyone else in the world, you could’ve been _anyone else_.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? You’re Liv’s partner. Elliot Stabler.”

“We haven’t spoken in years. What difference does it make now?”

“You don’t—” Barba swallowed the sting of bile, his expression twisting under the force of his self-loathing. “Don’t you get it? There’s literally no one on this planet that I could fuck that would hurt her more.”

“Liv? Come on, she hates us both at this point, right?”

Barba dipped his chin, leveling Stabler with a glare. “That’s bullshit and you know it,” he said in a low voice, somehow managing to keep the tremor at bay.

Stabler grimaced and cleared his throat. “There was never anything between us. If you and she were such great friends, you should know that.”

Barba’s head was thudding. He clenched his hands into fists. “If you did this to hurt her, if you used me to hurt her—”

“Me? I don’t want to hurt Liv. This was about _you_. And don’t flatter yourself. I’m sure she made you feel special. That’s a talent of hers, but she’s an expert at letting people go. You were just another ADA to her, I guarantee it.”

“She doesn’t _let people go_. People _leave_. You’d know all about that.”

“So would you, from what I hear,” Stabler shot back. “You were on trial for murder and she stood by you through all of it. She put her career and reputation on the line—”

“Neither of those were in danger. I never would’ve—”

“She was on _television_, every time you were on the evening news, there she was, somewhere close by.”

“Is that what this was about, then? You were upset we were friends?”

“Friends? Is that why you have a picture of her and her kid in your wallet—”

“You went through my—Of course you did, that first night, here I thought you were just being decent when you put me to bed.”

“I _was_ decent. You got lucky. What were you _thinking_?”

“I was thinking I wanted to get laid and you were convenient.”

“You worked with SVU for five years.”

“Six.”

“You should know better. You know what could happen.”

“I’d rather you’d—well, anything other than this. Anything other than you being _Stabler_.”

“Really,” Stabler answered, and Barba could hear the pain in the man’s voice. “Nothing I do can be worse than who I am?”

Barba started toward him. “I saw the damage you did when you left, even years later.”

Stabler’s expression hardened. “I was right to leave. She should’ve left, too. That job is toxic.”

“Maybe to someone like you. But Liv is the best thing that’s ever happened to SVU, to the NYPD—”

“You knew her a few years. You think _I_ damaged her? I protected her, I taught her everything she knows.”

“You might’ve taught her everything _you_ know but you sure as hell didn’t teach her everything _she_ knows,” Barba said, and the acid in his voice surprised Stabler.

Stabler stared at the other man for long moments as realization dawned. How could he have been so blind, so _stupid_? “You’re in love with her,” he said, and he saw Barba flinch. “Aren’t you.”

“You tell me,” Barba snapped. “You’re the fucking genius.”

Stabler shook his head and sighed, scrubbing a palm over his forehead. “I wish I was dumb enough to believe I was smart,” Stabler said. He paused. “Instead of, you know…just smart enough to realize how much I don’t know.”

“That shows more internal reflection than Liv led me to believe you were capable of,” Barba said, and it was Stabler’s turn to wince.

“Things change,” was all the former detective could manage to say.

“And you? Are you in love with her?” Barba asked, bracing himself for the answer. “Is that why you were so angry—”

“No,” Stabler said, and the fight had gone out of his voice and posture. “I was never _in love_ with her, but our relationship became…dangerous. Obsessive, almost. I left to save my marriage, or at least that’s what I thought. I failed at that, too. Maybe all I was really trying to do was save myself before the job completely destroyed me.” He drew a slow, deep breath and released it through his nose, searching Barba’s face. “I’m sorry, Rafael. I didn’t realize.”

“That other people have feelings? No, why would you?”

“If you want to press charges, I won’t—”

“Save the sanctimonious guilt _bullshit_,” Barba said, glaring at him. “We used each other just like I said. That’s it, it’s over.”

“It’s not.”

“It fucking well _is_,” Barba spat, jabbing a finger against Stabler’s chest. “You wanted to hurt me? Congratulations,” he said, spreading his arms wide, “I invited you in with open arms, I fucking _begged_ you to hurt me. Bonus points for us both getting what we wanted.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But I will be _damned_—”

“Not after I got to know you.”

“—if I let you drag Liv into this. _Know me_? You don’t know me. You know how to fuck me.”

“Rafael,” Stabler said, reaching for the other man. 

Barba spun out of his reach. “Don’t touch me.”

“She’ll understand.”

“Walk into her office, tell her you lied to get me into bed, tell her I practically threw myself at you, sure,” Barba ranted, barely aware of the words spilling from his lips as he paced. The room was reeling around him. “Jesus Christ. Even if you _had_ assaulted me, I would never—”

“Your consent was based on a lie.”

“I don’t fucking _care_, don’t you _get that_? Nothing happened between us that I didn’t want. You tried to tell me, Jesus, you tried to tell me and I shut you down, I told you to keep your secrets.”

“I should’ve tried harder. If I’d known how you felt about her—”

Barba stopped and turned toward Stabler. “It’s over, isn’t it,” he said. It wasn’t a question. The blood was roaring in his ears. The room was spinning. He couldn’t catch his breath.

“I promise you won’t have to see me again if—” Stabler stopped when Barba shook his head. “You and Olivia? I thought…Stone said you weren’t in contact anymore.”

“I thought I could—if I worked hard enough, that I—that I could fix—” He shook his head. “There’s no coming back from this,” he said numbly. He walked toward the bed on stiff legs, barely noticing when Stabler’s fingers brushed his arm. Barba sank onto the edge of the bed.

“There’s no reason for her to be upset with you about this. It had nothing to do with her—”

“It had everything to do with her,” Barba said weakly. “Stone—You…” He shook his head and drew a ragged breath. “Okay. Okay. That’s it.”

“You’re overreacting,” Stabler said. He was standing near Barba’s leg, having followed him to the bed. “She’ll blame me, not you.”

“You don’t get it. She can never know about this. It’s better for her if we both stay out of her life.”

“Is she in love with you, too?” Stabler asked.

Barba looked up at him. There was no way he could hide the pain in his eyes, no way he could keep the other man from seeing it. “She was when I left,” he said, barely audible.

Stabler turned and sat on the bed beside Barba. “I was pissed off that she stood by you through the trial after what happened with that baby but I swear I didn’t realize—I swear this wasn’t about her.”

“It’s probably for the best,” Barba muttered.

“What happened between you two?”

“Nothing. I almost went to prison, Elliot, and I knew she would still stand by me, I knew she would never let me go unless I walked away.”

“But you _didn’t_ go to prison. Why leave—”

“She’s the only person who ever believed in me unconditionally. She didn’t see my career as a stepping stone, she didn’t look down on me for my sexuality or childhood, she never doubted my sense of morality. Not once. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing disappointment in her eyes…”

“So you left?”

Barba’s lips twisted into a humorless smile at the scorn in Stabler’s voice. “Self-fulfilling prophecy, I suppose,” he muttered.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care.”

“I don’t believe that, either. I think you panicked. You panicked and you ran away but you always knew in the back of your mind that she’d forgive you if you went back and apologized because that’s what she does. So you had hope.”

“Told you you were the genius.”

“There’s still hope. Go talk to her. Just…don’t mention us, if you don’t want her to know. Or do, and explain what happened, you know she’ll blame me—it’s _my fault_.”

“You tried to tell me,” Barba repeated quietly.

“You’re being too nice.”

Barba snorted softly. “That’s a first,” he said, and there was a trace of real amusement in the smile he offered the other man. He searched Stabler’s face for a moment. “You panicked, too.”

Stabler grimaced. “I told you, I wasn’t in love with her, I was miserable—”

“I mean last night.”

“Oh.” Stabler looked away and rubbed his palms on his jeans. “It was…a lot.”

“I told you that you could talk to me if you were upset but tonight, as soon as you got here and said you needed to tell me something, I…closed you out.”

“We barely know each other,” Stabler said. “You didn’t owe me anything, and you don’t now.”

“If you’d told me who you were, I never would’ve had sex with you.”

“I know.”

“But I did. And I know that regardless of everything else involved, that’s a big deal for you. Far be it from me to say that I’m life-changing in bed,” he added with a smile, “but it’s important that you remember that you’re the same person you were two days ago.”

“Yeah, an asshole,” Stabler muttered.

Barba’s smile widened and he bumped his arm against the other man’s. “Not all the time,” he said. “Listen, this is the end of us, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t call me if you need a reminder that we were there together, you know?”

“You really are a nice guy, aren’t you?”

Barba’s smile grew a little sadder. “I try,” he said with a half-shrug. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I think I am,” Stabler said, and he was surprised to realize it was true. “I don’t know what happens from here but I know there’s no looking back.”

“Maybe something good came out of this, then.”

“Are you gonna be okay?”

“Tonight I’m going to get very, very drunk,” Barba said.

“Alone? Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“No, but I’m going to do it anyway. And tomorrow I’ll figure out where I go from here.”

Stabler hesitated. “Will you call or text me tomorrow so I know you’re alright?”

Barba nodded slowly. “Can I ask you something personal?”

Stabler laughed. “Of course.”

“Are you still in love with your wife?”

“Yes. I’ve loved her my whole life. But I’m not sure if we were ever good for each other.”

“Maybe you weren’t as open as you could’ve been.”

“No _maybe_ about that,” Stabler muttered.

“Is she seeing someone?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Hmm.” Barba got to his feet and looked down at Stabler. “Next time you two talk, you might want to really _talk_, you know?”

“Yeah,” Stabler answered as he stood. They looked at each other for a few seconds. “I have no business giving you any sort of advice but you might want to consider taking some of your own. I’ll leave you alone but just…touch base tomorrow, huh?”

“Sports metaphor,” Barba said with a small smile. And then: “I will, I promise.”

* * *

She didn’t see him coming; she had her head down, her glasses resting low on her nose as she read the paperwork in front of her. Stabler paused in the doorway, gathering his courage. It had been a week since he’d last spoken to Rafael Barba, and he’d spent the majority of the week trying to decide whether or not to do what he was about to do.

“Captain Benson, huh? It’s got a nice ring to it.”

She looked up in surprise, and for several seconds it was as though she were seeing a ghost in the doorway. He supposed that wasn’t so far off. “Elliot,” she said, his name almost a question.

Then she smiled and pushed to her feet. Her expression was friendly but he couldn’t blame her for the caution in her eyes as she dropped her glasses onto the desk and rounded the corner. He met her halfway and she pulled him into a hug. 

He didn’t try to stop her; he knew it was likely the last embrace she would ever offer him, and he held onto her for as long as he dared. She smelled the same, which was both surprising and comforting. 

“Is everything okay?” she asked, pulling back far enough to see his face. “Kathy, and the kids?”

“They’re good.” He stepped away, smoothing the front of his shirt. “You know we’re divorced?”

“I heard, I’m sorry. Please, come in, you want coffee or something?”

“No, I’m good—I’m not interrupting, am I? Do you have a few minutes?”

“Of course,” she said. She pushed the door closed with a click and put her hand on his arm. He could read the concern in more than just her eyes, now, and he looked away toward the wall. 

“Place has changed a lot,” he remarked, noting all the personal touches that were different than during Cragen’s tenure. “I’ve heard great things about what you’ve accomplished here.”

“I’ve got a great squad,” she said. “You want to sit?”

He looked at the chair. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m not even sure I should be here but I need to tell you something.”

“Okay,” she said. She perched herself on the corner of her desk. “Take your time.”

“It’s good to see you, Liv,” he said. She smiled, but that only made his anxiety worse. He could hear Barba in his head: _she can never know about this._ He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve got so many things to apologize for…”

“It’s water under the bridge, Elliot,” she said. “You don’t owe me any apologies.”

“You might want to wait a few minutes,” he answered. He sighed. “I’m not sure how to start.” He started to pace to help expend some nervous energy. “Okay. Someone came to me with allegations about a man, accusations that he’d gotten a teenage girl pregnant and paid for her abortion. I was hired to investigate.” He paused, half-expecting her to ask why SVU hadn’t been called. She was silent, though, waiting for him to tell the story the way he wanted. “There wasn’t much evidence. He paid for the abortion, the money was obvious, but otherwise, you know. Not much to go on. So I figured I’d talk to the guy, maybe get some drinks into him, get him nice and chatty…”

He trailed off and frowned at the floor as he paced. “I’d like to be able to say I didn’t set out to flirt with him but the truth is I knew from my source that he was bisexual so I can’t claim ignorance or…innocence. But I really didn’t expect him to be so receptive. He’d already had way too much to drink so when he asked me back to his place I thought maybe I could look around, see if there were any red flags.”

He shook his head as he continued to pace. “He was wasted. Made some advances and then passed out on the floor. I looked around but didn’t find anything so I left. But I went back the next morning to catch him on his way to work.”

He stopped and turned to face her. Her expression was carefully neutral as she listened to his story. “I asked him out for drinks that night and afterward I went back to his apartment with him and we…Well, the details aren’t important, but I slept with him. He had no idea who I really was, but he knows now. I told him I wouldn’t fight him if he wanted to press charges but he didn’t. All he cared about was making sure you didn’t find out and now here I am betraying him again.”

“This is…a lot to process,” she said when he didn’t immediately continue. “Did you…” She seemed unsure how to finish the question, but he knew what she wanted to ask.

“I wanted to sleep with him,” he said. “By then I’d convinced myself he was innocent and now I’m even more sure, but…the sex wasn’t to get information. To be honest I’m still figuring out how it affects the rest of my life, but that’s not why I’m here. Liv, Peter Stone came to me with the allegations, he said he thought you were biased and ignoring red flags about a friend. I realize now that Stone probably had a bias of his own, and so did I.”

“Stone came to you.”

“Yes. About Ashtonja Abreu.”

“Ashtonja.” She looked like he’d slapped her, and all he could do was stand there and wait for her reaction. She got to her feet. “Did you—Are you telling me that you—That it was Barba?”

“Yes.”

“You slept with Barba.”

“Yes.”

“He had no idea who you were.” When he shook his head, she continued, “You picked him up in a bar?”

“Sort of.”

“Did you hurt him?” she asked, and her voice was low and dangerous. Her eyes flashed as she glared at him. Her protectiveness told him all he needed to know about her feelings for Rafael Barba.

“Not physically. I didn’t understand what I was—”

She reached out and shoved him with both hands, and he took a startled step back, caught off guard. “How could you? He’s never intentionally hurt _anyone_.”

“He hurt you.”

“You know nothing about our relationship even if you think you do. And it’s none of your business.”

“I’m not here to defend myself, Liv. I’m just trying to make things right.”

He could see her making a concentrated effort to get her emotions under control. Finally, she said, “Sit down. We need to talk this through.”

* * *

Barba opened the door with his heart in his throat; he supposed it was safer there than on his sleeve, anyway. “Liv,” he said. He had no idea why she was at his door and he had even less of an idea what he was supposed to say to her. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

“No. I have a problem—I need your help, Barba.”

“Of course,” he said, stepping aside. He started to reach for her arm and stopped himself, instead gesturing awkwardly for her to enter. She walked into his apartment and turned to face him while he closed the door. “What happened? What do you need?” he asked.

“See?” she said, and he realized too late that he’d fallen for the trap. “I walk in here after almost two years and your first question is _what do you need_.”

He walked past her. He was going to need a drink. “Technically my first question was _what happened_.” He considered, frowning. “Or…_is everything okay_, I guess,” he amended as he thought back over what he’d said.

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

“About what?” he asked. His scalp was prickling. His heart was thudding dully in his chest. His stomach was full of squirming snakes.

For so long, he’d wanted nothing more than to see her at his door—but not like this. This was not a conversation he wanted to have. This was not a conversation he wanted _her_ to have.

“Talk to me, Rafael.”

He turned to face her. “About what?” he repeated, popping the _T_ at the end of the second word. They regarded each other in silence for a few seconds. “He told you. I can’t believe he told you—the one thing I asked him not to do—”

“You should’ve told me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? Call you up?” He held his hand to his ear, thumb and pinky extended to mimic a phone. “Hey, Liv, it’s me—yeah, you remember, the asshole lawyer who left you crying outside the courthouse two years ago? Funny story, I met your old partner, the one who broke your heart, and I fucked him. Just thought you should know.”

She tried to hide her wince, but it hurt a place deep inside of him. His nose and eyes burned.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “I know that you’re upset.”

“I’m upset that he told you.”

“I know he hurt you.”

“Both of you are really making too big a deal out of this. I picked him up in a bar. I brought him home. He’s not the first guy who’s lied about who he is to get laid.”

“Okay. I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about it.”

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Come in here all gung-ho and then start tiptoeing around me like I’m a victim.”

“If you were anyone else, what would you say—”

“I’m not anyone else—and neither are you,” he interrupted. He couldn’t help the sharpness in his voice, even as he recognized it as a defense mechanism. “And neither is he. Jesus Christ, Liv, this is exactly why I didn’t want you to know. I don’t—I don’t know how to make this better.”

“Rafael,” she said, starting toward him, but she stopped when he held up a hand.

“He didn’t hurt me, Olivia. He tried to tell me the truth before…things went too far and I refused to listen. I wanted the distraction. What he did was wrong but he didn’t do it maliciously.”

“You’re too forgiving.”

He smiled. It felt unnatural on his face. “That’s one thing of which I’ve never been accused—”

“I’m serious.”

He sighed and turned away. “Want a drink?”

“What he did _was_ wrong.”

“He’s not the only one at fault, Liv. The truth is, he’s not such a bad guy. I can see why you loved him.” He knew the words were mean, but he wasn’t sure who he was trying to wound: her or himself.

“That’s what he said about you.”

His steps faltered for only a moment. He recovered quickly and reached for the bottle of scotch. “I’m sorry he dragged you into this, you didn’t deserve to have to hear about it. I don’t have any wine, do you want scotch?”

“I want you to look at me.”

Barba poked at his tumbler with a finger for a moment to gather his resolve before turning. She’d crossed half the distance to him, and he swallowed, fighting the urge to flee. “I lied, I do have wine,” he said. “I just didn’t want to seem too pathetic and admit I only keep it around in the hopes you’ll stop by.”

“Rafael.”

He felt his face threatening to crumple and he shook his head. “I guess the ship has sailed, huh? Believe it or not, Liv, I really thought I was done hurting you when I left. But somehow I managed to find the one thing—”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“Of course it is. I know how much he hurt you when he left the way he—”

She stepped forward and grabbed him, pulling him into a hug. There was no resistance in his body and he dropped his face onto her shoulder, but his arms circled around her loosely; he was afraid to hold on too tightly.

“—and then I did the same thing,” he finished in a mumble against her shoulder. His tears had begun to flow and he was powerless to stop them. “And now I…he and I—”

“I know you didn’t know.”

“That doesn’t absolve me.”

“He left to protect himself from me. You left to protect me from you. I always knew the difference, Rafa.”

His sob caught in his throat and his arms tightened against his will. 

“All I ever wanted was for you to be happy,” she whispered into his hair. “If you were struggling, I wish you’d come to me and let me help you.”

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness. Or comfort,” he said, pulling away. He swiped an arm over his face. The sight of tears on her cheeks was too much, and he turned his eyes. “You’ve had a lot of shitty men in your life, Liv, and you deserve so much better than all of us.”

“You’re not shitty.”

“No? I had sex with Elliot Stabler, in case that wasn’t clear. I even liked him a little.”

Instead of recoiling, she surprised him by saying calmly, “Meeting you seems to be the best thing that could’ve happened to him. He said he felt like he could be himself with you.”

“Funny coming from a guy who was lying the whole time,” he said through numb lips.

“He said he knows he was nothing more than a one night stand to you.”

“Two. And a half.”

“But he opened up to you in a way he didn’t with me in more than a decade—”

“I could tell you the difference but I don’t want to be crude.”

“And you said you liked him.”

“He’s tolerable.”

“You shared something.”

“He’s good in bed. The right amount of aggressive.”

“If my feelings are the only thing keeping you from pursuing a relationship with him—”

“What?”

“—then I need you to know, I’m okay. I’ll support you no matter what.”

“A relationship? I don’t _do_ re_la_tionships.”

“You never know. You might fall in love.”

“Impossible.”

“Why?”

“How could I when I’m already—” He broke off, staring at her for a moment before whirling toward the counter to grab his drink. 

“Still?” she asked behind him.

He gulped down half of his scotch. He didn’t ask how long she’d known; he hadn’t exactly been subtle, in spite of his best intentions. “Until the end of fucking time,” he answered hoarsely.

“That’s romantic.”

“That’s me. _Romantic_.”

“I can be aggressive.”

He turned toward her. “Excuse me?” 

“I could be whatever you wanted me to be.”

“What the—I don’t want anything _close_ to aggression with you, I want—” He stopped again. 

She gave him several beats but he didn’t finish the sentence, so she said, “I would’ve gone with you. All you had to do was say the fucking words, Rafael, and I would’ve given up my career, my apartment, I would’ve packed Noah up and followed you to the ends of the Earth. _All you had to do was ask_.”

He opened his mouth and closed it again. What could he say that she didn’t already know? 

She said it for him. “But of course you knew that. It’s why you didn’t ask. Well you know what? I’m _sick and tired_ of people deciding what’s best for me. And I’m sick and tired of being miserable and lonely when I know that you love me, when I know that there’s no point in trying to date because I’ll never love anyone the way I love you. But I’m also sick of waiting around for something that might never—for someone that might never come back. I need to know if I should give up on you.”

“You should’ve done that when I left.”

She glared at him.

“You’re too forgiving,” he said, throwing her words back at her.

“I haven’t forgiven you,” she shot back.

Barba winced. “Good,” he said. There was no air behind the word, no force. He clenched his hands at his sides. “Liv.”

“Rafael.” His name was both a challenge and a plea.

He moved toward her, his steps hesitant. He reached out a hand, pulled it back, and stretched it forward again, finally letting his fingertips touch the hem of her shirt. _I’ll never love anyone the way I love you_, he thought, her words bouncing around in his head.

“I keep…” He swallowed, trying to find the right words. “I keep trying to fix things, to make things better, and it seems like all I do is make things worse. I used to know who I was and what I wanted, exactly what I was doing at any given moment, and now I feel like I don’t know how to function. Everything I touch falls apart. And you—Liv, I couldn’t risk destroying you, too.”

“I think I deserve a little more credit than that. I can take care of myself, Barba, I’ve been doing it for…a long time.”

“So have I, but that didn’t stop you from barging in here ready to go to war on my behalf.”

She considered that, and a smile curved her lips. “I didn’t barge in. You invited me in,” she said. “But…point taken.”

“I promise you, I’m not upset about anything that happened between me and him. Only that it hurt you.”

“I was never in love with him, you know. Maybe I thought I was but…it was more like codependency. He was the most important person in my life. I couldn’t really see the rest of the world. It’s hard to explain, the intensity of spending so much time with someone—to be responsible for each other’s lives, always putting their safety above your own. For someone who already has an issue with commitment and unhealthy attachments, it was a bad mix.

“Him leaving was the best thing that could’ve happened to me. I learned how to be a better partner, a better friend, a better cop. I became a mother. I learned what real love feels like.”

“Watching you become a mother was the most beautiful thing in my life. It was what you both deserved.”

“Tell me the truth, Rafael. How’ve you been?”

He struggled to swallow. He fingered the bottom of her shirt, barely resisting the urge to tug her closer. “Mostly okay,” he said quietly. “I’ve been trying to put the pieces of my life back together but there’s been one giant piece missing right in the middle and most days I could work around it, ignore it or convince myself it was only temporary.”

“And other days?”

“Other days something would happen to remind me that if I hadn’t screwed everything up, I’d be sitting in an uncomfortable chair surrounded by a bunch of cops watching you be promoted to Captain. I’d start to realize the hole wasn’t really temporary and I might have to live the rest of my life without you.”

“Where does that leave us?”

He chewed the inside of his lip for a moment. “I don’t want you to give up on me, Liv,” he admitted in a rush. “I don’t know what to do to fix what I broke.”

“Stop running away from me, that’s how you start,” she said.

“I promise I won’t run.”

“I have a son, Rafa. If I let you back into my life, I need to know it’s for good.”

“I miss Noah,” he said. “I love him, you know I do.”

“I do know, but there’s a big difference between that and being around full-time, dealing with nightmares and packing lunches and doing homework. And I’m not asking for that kind of commitment right now, I’m not asking for promises that this will work—only that it’s not off the table and that you’re willing to try. That you won’t take off if you start to feel overwhelmed.”

“Lunches and homework and bedtime stories and…and falling asleep beside you every night, Liv, that’s all I want, that’s all I’ve wanted for years.” He leaned forward and hesitated, searching her eyes. She met him halfway, pressing her lips to his.

“Then let’s start figuring it out,” she murmured.

* * *

“Raf,” she gasped, dancing her fingertips across his scalp. She’d already come once and he was diligently working her toward a second orgasm without so much as a break for air. While she appreciated the dedication and admired his focus, she wanted more than his mouth.

“Hmm?” he answered without lifting his head, and she shivered on the sheets as the vibration found her center.

“You gonna stay down there all night?”

He chuckled and she barely suppressed a moan as she tried not to writhe against his face. “If you let me,” he mumbled against her.

“No.” She pushed gently at his forehead. “Come up here.”

He made a sound of exaggerated disappointment and pursed his glistening lips into a pout, but he was already crawling up to find her mouth with his. He gave her a quick kiss and said, “Okay. I’m here, now what?”

“You just spent seven hours kissing every inch of my body,” she said.

“Seven hours,” he laughed. His chest was flattened against hers and she could feel his erection against her thigh.

“I think you can figure out what comes next.”

“You?” he suggested, cocking an eyebrow as his hand wriggled its way between her legs.

She was slick from the ministrations of his tongue, but when he slipped a finger into her she shifted restlessly, impatient with her body’s lack of cooperation. He withdrew his hand and reached up toward the nightstand, settling his mouth against hers while he fumbled for the bottle of lube.

She tried to say “don’t take it personally,” but his tongue was in her mouth and all she managed was a garbled mess of sounds that she didn’t think there was any chance he would understand. He laughed against her lips and lifted his head enough to look at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I’m taking _all_ of this _very_ personally,” he said.

“Oh, God,” she lamented, “you _are_ a romantic, aren’t you?”

He grinned at her and she laughed as she reached up to cup a hand to his jaw. She could tell him that menopause had wreaked havoc on her body and its natural responses in recent years, but the words were unnecessary. His hand was back between her legs and she could scarcely understand how he’d managed; his fingers were warm and slippery and at _least_ as skilled as his tongue.

“There’s an upside,” she gasped, arching against his hand. His smirk told her he knew exactly how much control he currently had over her body. “You don’t need protec—” She couldn’t finish the thought as her second orgasm tore through her unexpectedly and she trembled on the bed, clenching around his hand as her body tried to pull his slick fingers deeper.

Her fingers tangled into his hair, tugging at him, and he ducked his head to press his lips to hers. “There’s nothing but upside to being here with you,” he murmured.

“Rafa_el_.”

“Yes, Liv?” he asked innocently.

She put her hands against his chest and pushed. Her muscles were rubbery but he gave no resistance, and he held her hips to steady her as she flipped him onto his back and rolled over onto his body. He laughed beneath her as she straddled him. “Something amusing?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. She shifted her hips, rubbing against him, and it was her turn to smirk when he groaned.

His fingers dug into her hips but he laughed again. “_Seven hours_,” he repeated. “I’ve never known you to be hyperbolic.”

“You trying to impress me with your vocabulary?”

“I have to use the tools I have.”

“There’s another tool you should be using,” she said, and his laughter shook the bed. He reached between their bodies to make sure there was enough lubrication, and a tremor passed through her at his gentle touch. “I want you inside me,” she told him, lifting herself up into position. “What do _you_ want?”

He struggled against the urge to thrust into her. “You.”

She rolled her eyes. “Romantic,” she accused as she sank onto his length.

Barba ran his hands up her sides and cupped his palms over her breasts, biting back his groan when she arched into his touch. “I love you.”

She smiled at him, and Barba felt the pieces of his heart stitching themselves back together. “Then hold on,” she said.

“Always.”


End file.
